


Bloodhunt [DISCONTINUED]

by AngelofGallifrey



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Eventual Character Death, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rating May Change, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofGallifrey/pseuds/AngelofGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Entity has destroyed all free will on Earth, turning all humans into mindless Advocates, hellbent on slaughtering all those who will not kneel before It in submission. Only a small band of survivors remain, and they will do absolutely anything to regain the world they once knew and loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS IN THIS STORY! ALL REFERENCES MADE TO ANY VIDEOS ARE SOLE PROPERTY OF THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS...DEFINITELY NOT ME!!
> 
> NO PROFIT IS CLAIMED FROM WRITING THIS!!
> 
> Yes, I know none of the pairings are real...it's all for fun!! =)

Sometimes PJ wishes he could just lie down and sleep. 

Every now and then he tries to get past the tumultuous noise or deathly silence around him and just sits down where he is, closes his eyes and immerses himself in his thoughts. The darkness is a temporary escape, a sedative to the incessant, writhing nest of chaos that is his brain, like a pit of snakes. But every time he almost succeeds in reaching that tiny spot of peace buried deep within him, someone drags him to his feet, yanks him from his fleeting moment of stillness, shoves a gun into his hands and throws him back into the firing line. 

Sometimes PJ wishes he could scream and scream until his throat is raw and his voice is gone. He wishes he could tear his hair out and throw things at the wall until they shatter into a billion tiny pieces. He knows he would be capable of these things. Often he feels like his anger and sorrow has enough force to destroy entire cities; entire galaxies. It never does. He learnt the hard way that it is dangerous to wear one's heart on one's sleeve in times like these. He also knows he has to stay strong for the people around him. For his friends. For Dan, Phil, Jack, Dean, Tom, Carrie...for Chris. 

Chris.

Chris is the only one able to calm PJ when he is in a state. The only one able to pull him back from the brink and into the light. He is the only one PJ will really listen to, and the only one he will ever truly trust. It is something the others in their little group accepted long ago. PJ is a broken man, and so is Chris...it is inevitable that only they have the ability to put each other together again. 

So on days like today, when all PJ wants to do is curl up into a ball and be swallowed up by the very Earth itself, it is Chris who sits with him, listens to him, holds him and then brings him back to the present. The others leave them to it, going about the daily business of the camp. It is a regular occurrence by now, and no-one bats and eyelid. They all know that PJ is a lost cause...and yet no-one has the heart or the courage to say it to Chris' face.

***

Jack hated being on watch. It was, for want of a better word, dull. In fact, it was duller than dull. It was the single most painfully shitty thing he had ever had to do with his precious time, and all he got in return were frostbitten toes and fingers. Losing his gloves in his first week out of the Hub was not the cleverest thing he had ever managed to do, but he was too proud to ever ask any of his fellow campmates for a pair of theirs, so he was forced to remain out here in the bitter cold, freezing to death. 

"Wishing you had those gloves I bet, eh Howard?" 

Pausing to roll his eyes, Jack slowly turned to face his watch-partner, Dean. The other man was standing a little way off, his gun cradled in the crook of his arm, flexing his distinctly gloved hands. 

"Fuck off, you little bastard. It's your fault that I lost them in the first place," Jack replied, but there was no real aggression in his tone.

"Is that right? I seem to remember that it was your pocket out of which they fell, not mine."

"You were the one who said to run!"

"That's not the point, you twat. You should have worn them, then maybe they wouldn't have fallen out of your pocket."

"Oh shut up and get back to patrol, pixie-boy. You talk too much."

Grinning, Dean winked and flicked him the middle finger before turning to move on around to the other side of the warehouse. Jack watched him leave with a small smile on his face. The other man was a pain sometimes, but he wasn't going to deny the fact that he would miss him like hell if he were to go. 

It was then that he heard the scream. 

It was unlike anything Jack had ever heard before, and he had heard plenty of screams since this goddamn apocalypse had begun. He had heard the screams of the dying and tortured as the Advocates burned them alive in their homes, or cut them to pieces slowly and deliberately, like butchers carving a pork loin, blood spraying their faces and coating their hands, and yet carrying on ripping and gouging in their madness, heedless of the agonised gurgles from their victims lying beneath them. Forced to live because of the Advocates' skill, these poor unfortunates were incapable of looking at anything but their own internal organs strewn across the street around them and spilling from the great ragged gashes in their abdomens. He had heard the screams of the terrified, fleeing from the onslaught of Advocates cutting them down in great swathes, like a farmer slices through corn. He remembered his own screams as the force of the bullet hitting him in the shoulder knocked him to the ground, his vision darkening, blood blooming from beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt like some kind of macabre flower until he was eventually rendered unconscious.

But this...this was the scream of someone wounded and tormented. Someone whose soul was in tatters. Someone whose mind was torn apart. It made every hair on his body stand on end and set his teeth on edge, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He was suddenly gripped by an intense desire to either run away, as far from this godforsaken place as he could, or to run inside, hide under his thin blanket and never come out again. However, before he had a chance to act upon either impulse, Dean came racing back around the side of the warehouse, eyes wide and face white, and said in a quavering voice, "Jack...what the fuck was that?"


	2. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! There's no romance yet, but don't worry...there will be!! Please enjoy!!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE YOUTUBERS! 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!!
> 
> And yes, I know that none of the pairings are real, but it's all for fun! =)

"Fuck the apocalypse."

"Shut up, Dean."

"No really, fuck it."

"Stop talking. We're getting close."

"You're talking as well. You stop talking."

"Do you want to be captured by the Entity again? No, neither do I. So shut up."

"Stop arguing, you two. Christ, you're like an old married couple."

Jack and Dean glared daggers in Tom's direction, but it was so dark that Tom didn't even know they had turned their heads. 

The scream had brought Tom, Emma and Ben out of the warehouse, guns primed and aimed. When all they found were Jack and Dean, both scared out of their wits, Tom told Emma and Ben to go back inside whilst he, Jack and Dean went to find whoever (or whatever) had made the sound. Now the three of them were making their way through the short yet dense strip of forested area between the warehouse and the large, open plain that had once been a training ground for the army, but had soon been destroyed by all kinds of explosives, leaving behind a barren, crater-filled space that the camp tended to stay away from, as it made them easy targets. It was normally deserted, but both Jack and Dean were sure that the scream had come from this area. So here they were, tramping through thorny brambles and stinging nettles, cursing when they tripped over roots and subsequently hissing at each other to be quiet.

Dean's heart was beating like a drum, loud and violent, throbbing in his ears, a constant reminder of his fear. Swallowing, he clamped his fingers more tightly around the familiar contours of the gun, ready to squeeze the trigger when the need arose. Cold sweat was beading on his forehead as they neared the fringe of the thin strip of trees, his fear forming a hard lump in his throat which was impossible to swallow. He wanted to speak again, just to hear the comforting sound of another voice, but he knew it was a stupid idea - he didn't want to be responsible for Jack and Tom's deaths. Glancing behind him he saw Jack, an impassive mask on his face. He had always been good at schooling his expressions. Dean envied him because of that. Seeing him, Jack looked up and smiled weakly, and the mask cracked for a second, the warmth mixed with fear shining through for a brief moment before it was gone again, lost behind the emotionless facade. However, it was enough to make Dean feel just that little bit braver. 

Then they were at the fringe and Tom turned to face them, signalling to them to be silent before turning and moving out into the moonlight. Jack and Dean shared one final glance before following him, out from the relative safety of the trees and into the open space of the old training ground. It was unnerving, and Dean instinctively crouched, trying to make himself smaller and therefore less noticeable. He saw that both Jack and Tom were doing the same thing.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet. There was not so much as a breath of wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Dean heard nothing but the soft padding of his feet and the relentless pounding of his heart. Then Tom's shout broke the silence and he and Jack raced over to where he was crouching a little way off. 

It was a man. It was too dark to see much about his appearance, but he looked young, probably around their age. He looked far too thin to be healthy, and Dean was sure he could see blood on his face and hands. 

"Is he dead?" Jack asked softly.

Tom picked up the man's wrist and felt for his pulse whilst also lowering his ear to the man's lips, listening for any sign of breathing. There was a moment of suspense, like time stood still, before Tom straightened himself and said to Jack, "Help me get him up. He's alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment if you have the time...I would really appreciate some feedback! Like I said at the beginning, there's no romance yet - I'm hoping to make Jack and Dean's relationship a bit of a slow-burner (unless I get impatient ;) ). So...yeah. Let me know if you want me to continue!


	3. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it - please let me know if you did. Feel free to leave comments! It should start to get more interesting now, but I would really appreciate some feedback!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE YOUTUBERS!!
> 
> I DO NOT CLAIM ANY PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real, but it's all for fun! =)

It was absolutely freezing. Honestly, it was freezing at the best of times, but it was November, and Ben was sure that he could see frost forming on the leaves of the many weeds that grew in and around the warehouse. It was times like these that he missed central heating, warm baths and comfy beds the most. Growling a curse under his breath, he stamped his feet upon the hard-beaten ground and tucked his hands under his armpits, careful not to set off his gun. God, he hated watch. He had heard many people complaining about it (Jack Howard claiming the illustrious title of Number-One Whinger, closely followed by Alex Day) but he was pretty sure that no-one could hate it any more than he did. Actually, that was a lie - PJ probably hated it more than he did, but then...PJ hated most things and most people nowadays. The only one he didn't hate was Chris. It was painful to watch sometimes, but Chris never complained, unlike some of the other whiney fucks in the camp. He would do absolutely anything for PJ, and Ben knew that PJ would do absolutely anything for him too. Ben envied Chris his patience with the other man - he knew that if his best friend were to go into a state like PJ did every other night and he was the only one who could do anything about it, he would shortly go insane. But then, Chris and PJ were more than just best friends. Besides, that is what you do when you love someone. 

Ben heard the group coming before he saw them. They were making enough noise to awaken the dead, cursing and grunting, rustling and scrabbling, and Ben was just about to run and find them to tell them to shut up, when they came around the side of the warehouse, closely followed by Emma, who had taken Dean's place on watch, and he immediately saw what the fuss was all about.

Tom and Jack were supporting a young man between them. He was ill - very ill, blood congealing upon his hands and face, still oozing from a nasty gash on his forehead, and crusting around his ragged fingernails, as if he had been clawing at his own skin. The stuff had dried in matted clumps in his hair which was, if Ben was not mistaken, a pale ginger colour. He was as thin as a rake, and so pale that Ben would have mistaken him for a corpse if he had not briefly seen the slight flicker of his eyelids as Tom and Jack hauled him past and into the warehouse. Dean was following behind with Emma, and before he could disappear into the building too, Ben caught his arm and growled, "Who is he?"

"Tom found him. He's dying, Ben. We can't leave him out there when we've got the equipment here that might save him," Dean replied, a frown creasing his forehead as he glanced down at the hand grasping his arm. 

"That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard. He could be an Advocate, Dean!"

"Ben, get off him," snapped Emma, glaring at him warningly.

"Stay out of this, Emma," Ben replied, flashing her an answering glare before turning back to Dean, looking at him expectantly. With a silent exclamation of frustration, Emma turned and walked back into the warehouse, muttering angrily as she did so.

"Yes, he could be an Advocate, but we won't know until he's recovered, will we? And if he turns out to be one of them, then we'll shoot him, right?" Dean hissed, exasperation in his tone. 

Ben stared down into his eyes, hard and stubborn. He had seen resolve like that upon the other man's face before, and he knew that once it was there, it was near impossible to get rid of. Sighing, he released Dean's arm and instead clutched his gun, fingers tense on the cold metal, shoulders sagging as an overwhelming tiredness overcame him. God, when was the last time he had had a full night's sleep? At least a year, surely. The thought made Ben feel sick with exhaustion. 

"Come on, mate. You've been on watch long enough. Jack and I'll finish our shifts after we've made sure the guy's going to be alright, and you can get some sleep, OK? You're overworked," Dean said kindly, expression softening when he saw the sudden fatigue in his friend, clapping him on the back and walking ahead of him into the building. Ben hesitated before sighing and reluctantly following him inside.

***

PJ screams. He screams until his throat is nearly torn to pieces and tears are streaming down his cheeks, and yet no sound comes out. Nothing but a thick, muggy silence surrounds him, giving him an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia. He begins to struggle, but it is like trying to move through treacle. Fury boils in every fibre of his being as he tries to move his arms, his legs, his head...anything at all, but it is all so painfully slow and it makes the fury in him grow and grow until it is disproportionate to the rest of his body. He is nothing but a white hot burning pinprick of chaotic rage in the centre of endless blackness, and the sensation only has the effect of feeding the fire that is his very being. He tries to make another sound, but it's useless - the treacle around him subdues every sound his vocal chords try to make. 

It is becoming difficult to breathe now; like being trapped underwater with an oxygen tank that is slowly running out of oxygen. Blind panic replaces PJ's previous rage as he gulps desperately at the thick, sluggish air around him, trying to draw it into his lungs and yet not receiving anything. He is shrivelling up, dying away, shrinking and curling up until he is nothing. 

He is nothing. 

And yet...

He sees something. Something warm and bright and ever so tiny, and yet it is there, and PJ knows immediately what it is, because he can feel it too: a gentle, comforting presence, enveloping him in warmth and gently pulling him towards the light. The darkness is receding, and now PJ can breathe again, and he is no longer nothing. He has arms and legs and a body and a brain, and he is beginning to hear something too. A low rumbling sound, slowly beginning to morph into the achingly familiar sound of a voice, and PJ tries to speak, but the voice soothes him and comforts him, holding him close and encouraging him to rest. Slowly, the tiny point of warmth and light chases away the darkness and anger in PJ's mind, and his heart feels lighter as the words of the voice finally come into focus. 

"Chris," he whispers hoarsely, and he rests his head tiredly against the solid warmth of the body against him. 

He thinks he feels a gentle pressure upon his temple before he goes to sleep, and this time there is no darkness.


	4. Delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4...wow, I'm really enjoying writing this! Please feel free to leave a comment if you have the time! Thanks!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE YOUTUBERS!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real, but it's all for fun! =)

"Quickly, put him down by the fire. He's freezing," Tom said urgently, helping Jack to lay the unconscious man down carefully by the disused oil drum the camp was currently using as a place for a fire. 

Carrie, who was sitting a little way off with Alex, leapt to her feet upon seeing the state the newcomer was in. "Christ, guys, what did you do to him? Um...right, I've got some gauze and a bandage or two left in my pack." 

"What's going on?" asked Dan, hurrying over to the source of the commotion, Phil following suit.

"Tom and Jack found someone. He's bleeding," said Carrie briskly.

"Shit guys...are you sure this is a good idea? He looks dead already!" cried Bing, who moved up beside Jack to stare in horror at the new addition to the camp.

Pushing past him, Carrie hurried to her corner to retrieve the gauze. Meanwhile, Alex quickly fetched a bottle of vodka that he and Charlie had found in the basement of a nearby shop which had long since been smashed to pieces by the Advocates.

"Thanks," murmured Tom as he set to work, unscrewing the lid of the bottle and pouring vodka liberally over the wound on the man's forehead, to which the prone figure responded with a low groan of pain. 

The sound was promptly followed by the click of several guns being primed. Looking around, Tom saw Dean, Emma and Ben standing poised, their rifles aimed straight at the man's head. Glaring at them, he growled, "What do you think you're doing? This guy's dying! What the hell is he going to be able to do in his state?"

"He could be an Advocate, Tom. You can never be too careful. And don't look at me like that. I'm not going to shoot him unless I know for sure, which I don't. It's just a precaution," said Ben, scowling at the other man, not lowering the weapon.

"He isn't wearing the uniform, Ben."

"That doesn't mean anything. You know as well as I do that they don't always wear the uniforms...you know Zoe didn't, or Caspar, or Jimmy..."

"Shut up, Ben. That's enough," hissed Louise hoarsely from the shadows near her corner of the building, and everyone heard the emotion in her voice, although she tried to suppress it. She had still not got over losing her best friend.

Holding Ben's gaze for a moment, Tom glowered back at him before turning back to his work, cleaning the wound out with the vodka and carefully applying the gauze before wrapping the bandage around the man's head, cutting and tying it at the side. When this was done he set about seeing to the man's other more minor wounds, of which there were many, scattered all over his body. It was during this process that he awoke.

"What's happen...g-get off me! Leave me alone...leave me alone! Let me go! GET OFF!"

"Hey, hey mate, calm down! We're trying to help you..." cried Tom, trying to hold the now wildly struggling man down. "Jack, help me hold him down."

"LET ME GO! PLEASE! I DON'T...I don't...I don't know..."

His voice trailed off into incoherent mumbling. His eyes, bloodshot and unseeing, rolled back and his eyelids fluttered closed, his rapid movements becoming more sluggish as he drifted back into feverish unconsciousness. 

"Fucking fantastic. He's a lunatic," grumbled Alex quietly.

Sitting back, Tom gently released the young man's shoulders, which he had been pinning to the ground, and said tiredly, "Someone's going to have to keep an eye on him whilst we sleep. We'll do it in shifts. Who's on watch after Jack and Dean?"

"Me and Charlie, and then it's Dan and Tim," said Phil, stepping forward, Charlie standing up behind him. 

"Right. I'll watch him for an hour first. Emma, can you go after me? Then Carrie, Alex, Louise...OK? Just make sure he is never unattended. If he has another fit like that and there's no-one there to stop him, someone could get hurt."

"I'll watch him after you, Tom. I'm not tired."

The group turned around, shocked and a little concerned to see PJ standing there, Chris standing a little further back in the shadows, eyes fixed intently upon PJ's back. Pity welled involuntarily in Tom's heart when he saw the state his friend was in. PJ was clearly exhausted, not just physically, but mentally too. He was paler than Tom had ever seen him, and thin as a rake. His eyes, once some of the brightest and sharpest in the YouTube community, were now devoid of all life; dull, tired-looking and lined with deep purple shadows. When Chris moved further forward to stand in the flickering circle of light cast by the fire, Tom could see that he was not looking much better, but there was a fierce determination upon his face that Tom knew would not fluctuate. Whatever PJ did, Tom was sure that Chris would follow him, until the day he died.

"Are you sure, Peej? You're looking a little worse for wear...don't you think you should rest?"

"NO!"

The sudden shout rang through the building, causing several campmates to flinch. Chris immediately stepped forward, placing a gentle hand upon PJ's shoulder and squeezing softly. He said nothing, but the words hung in the air like a fog, thick and almost tangible. PJ closed his eyes, breathing deeply and composing himself before he fixed his gaze upon Tom, who swallowed nervously yet kept his calm, hard exterior. He was the leader of this camp. He had to behave like one.

"No. I'm fine. I can watch him. I said I'm not tired," PJ growled slowly, deliberately. 

Tom paused before sighing and nodding. "Alright. If that's what you want. I'll wake you up when it's time."

"And me. Wake me up too. I'll watch with him," Chris added swiftly, before the subject was dropped. 

Tom peered at him, then nodded curtly. "Right then. I'll wake you both."

He saw a brief, grateful smile touch the corners of Chris' lips before he took PJ's arm and the two of them retreated back to their part of the warehouse, in the far corner of the building. Around him, the other camp members started to disperse, some making a beeline for their various piles of blankets and some preparing for watch. Only Ben hesitated, gun still aimed and prepared to fire, and it was not until Emma placed a hand on his arm and gave him a hard look that he allowed himself to be led away. Within five minutes the building was silent, and Tom was left alone beside the lambent glow of the fire, his rifle resting upon his knees, the mysterious young man lying at his feet.


	5. Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was a bit longer updating...I've been a bit busy recently, and I found this one harder to negotiate...and I'm sorry about the kiss - it was a bit of a cop-out! I really am crap at romances. :/ But anyway, hope you like it! =D Please leave a comment if you have time, or just kudos would be lovely. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THESE YOUTUBERS!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real, but it's all for fun. =)

"What do you think happened to him?"

"Hm?"

"This guy. What do you think got him into this state? Something's made him go a bit wacko...and you don't go a bit wacko just from getting the flu. There's normally some kind of scarring backstory going on. So what do you think happened to him?"

PJ paused, looking down at the young man lying unconscious at their feet. Then, with a soft sigh he said, "Advocates, probably. I'd say he was taken back to the Hub and managed to escape somehow. That'd mess your brain up...and I would know."

Chris paused to allow PJ's words to sink in before deciding to leave it be and saying quietly, "Jack and Dean would be able to tell if he had been in the Hub."

"I saw them talking to Tom as they were switching watch duty with Phil and Charlie. They know too."

They were silent for a moment before PJ continued, "I don't know what the hell is going on in Tom's mind right now. A few months ago and he'd have put a bullet through this guy's brain the moment he saw him. He's only going to slow us down, and if he does wake up, then he's either going to be a raving lunatic or an Advocate. You've noticed it too, haven't you?"

"I know what you mean. He's not been himself recently. He's not seeing everything as black and white anymore...in fact, everything seems to be in the kind of grey area for him. It could even be a bit ironic because he's the one who used to hammer it into our brains that we could not allow ourselves to see the metaphorical 'grey area'. Something's happening to him, and...well, I think all we can do is keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Right?"

"Yeah. I guess so," murmured PJ softly, looking down at his hands, nervously twiddling his fingers and thumbs.

More silence. Silence, silence, silence. Chris hated it. He missed the times when he and PJ used to laugh at everything and nothing. Their house was never silent...even when they slept PJ would keep music on in the background to fill the void, and Chris had never minded because it soothed them both to sleep. He missed the wondrous happiness that had bathed each and every day they spent together. Endless cups of tea, filming collabs for YouTube, laughing over the hate comments and replying to the nice ones, PJ writing songs for Chris on his guitar whilst Chris returned the favour by writing witty one-liners on sticky notes and leaving them in places around the house where PJ was sure to see them, kisses in the dark, cuddles on the sofa...

In a way, their lives had been idyllic; something many people could only ever dream of having - and yet it had been so fragile, so easily broken...that was blatantly obvious by the way their lives had so quickly crumbled to dust when PJ had been taken. Chris could remember the day clearly...and the day PJ had returned to him. But the PJ that Chris had held in his arms on the day he returned was not the same PJ who had been stolen by the Advocates a month before. Something had broken inside him, and Chris knew that there was no way on Earth that he was going to be able to put him back together again for a very long time. All he could do was be there for him, hold his hand when he needed it, and listen to him when he wanted to talk.

But that was just it. PJ never wanted to talk.

He had never told Chris about that month with the Advocates, and Chris doubted that he ever would. It was a taboo subject between them, and the rest of the camp members had soon caught on to this (although it took Tim finding himself with a black eye and a split lip for them to get the message), and therefore avoided speaking to PJ about anything other than ordinary, everyday things. If they ever wanted to know anything about the dark world of the Hub, then they would go to Jack and Dean, who were far luckier than they would ever know. There were few who returned from the Hub with their minds still fully intact.

Then, a few days after PJ's return, he had started having...episodes. One moment he would be chatting amicably, the next he would be sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, eyes wide and unseeing. It tore Chris apart, having to watch the sheer torment in his friend's eyes and not being able to help in any way.

Watching him now was no different. He could see the agony in PJ's features even more prominently now, with the flickering light of the fire playing across the sharp angles of his face, than he ever had. Sighing, he shook his head and looked down at his hands, just as PJ was doing. He didn't look up when the other man hesitantly glanced over at him before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. Sighing, he closed his eyes and squeezed his fists tightly together, relishing the brief contact before it disappeared again.

"I wish things were different you know, Chris, and I'm sorry," PJ whispered, and Chris heard the suppressed emotion in his voice.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, you idiot," he replied, turning to face the other man and kissing him softly. He was getting choked up himself...he couldn't even remember the last time he and PJ had kissed.

"We'll be alright. I promise, Chris, we'll be alright. We'll survive this."

"I know. I have no doubt whatsoever."

PJ smiled, a real, warm, genuine smile, and the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes were like diamonds, reflecting the warm glow of the fire. Chris saw, in that brief moment, a flash of the old PJ shining through, his eyes not quite as dull as they had been before, his mouth quirked up in the same wonderful smile that Chris had missed so much.

He would have kissed him again.

Then the man at their feet started to talk.


	6. Matt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real. It's all for fun. =)

"Please...please don't...no...I don't...know...don't know anything..."

The young man tried to move, scrabbling upwards in an attempt to get into a sitting position.

"OK mate, calm down. It's alright. We've got you," said Chris conversationally, trying to keep his voice firm as he slipped from his perch next to PJ and moved to gently push the man back down. "Peej, fetch one of our blankets."

"What? Chris, we need it..."

"We have one each, Peej. I'm sure we can survive with one between us for one night. Go and get it," Chris replied in a tone that brooked no argument. Grudgingly, PJ dragged himself to his feet and shuffled to his and Chris' corner to retrieve one of their two blankets. 

"...I don't...know...anything..."

"I know. It's OK. Don't worry. Peej and I are here. You're safe."

"But the Entity...don't...I don't know...don't...know..."

"Here," interrupted PJ, throwing the blanket unceremoniously over Chris' head. 

"Thanks."

Chris snatched the blanket down with a glare in PJ's direction before laying the thin sheet of material over the man's body. It wasn't much, but it would protect him from the cold a little better than his own skin. PJ watched from his perch, glowering at the exchange. Turning to glance over his shoulder at him, Chris smirked at the blatant expression of jealousy on the other man's face.

"Calm down, sugar tits. I'm not sleeping with anyone else just yet."

PJ rolled his eyes at this, but his expression softened a little. However, he did not move to help Chris with the stranger. 

When their charge was comfortably unconscious once more, the two men were able to relax a little, sitting in silence and simply watching, glad for the respite. 

***

Who am I? 

Matt, you idiot. Your name's Matt. 

Yes. Matt. That's it. Matt. 

Am I dead? Is this death; this cold, dark, silent, ceaseless suspension? If this is death, then I would rather take my chances out there.

Or am I one of them? Did they finally find me; smell me out? Did they scent my fear, or was it my blood? There was plenty of that to go around. 

Don't let them take me. 

I'm tired of questions. Tired of torture. Tired of the stench of death that surrounds me. It's choking me, constricting me, like a snake around its prey, and I can't escape it.

I'm lost. Alone. Broken. Tired. Scared. The fear...god, it's all-consuming. All I can ever think about. Always tainting my thoughts...not that I have many of those.

How do I get out of this darkness? How do I breathe again? I need light. I need warmth. I need some sensation of something...anything. I need to touch something, just to remind myself of where my body begins and everything else starts, because at the moment I'm not sure. 

Wait...there is light...but it is harsh and too bright, and it burns like candle wax on my skin. I start to scream, but no sound comes out. And then I see him. An Advocate. His face is close to mine, shouting something at me, but I can't make out his words. All I know is that if I don't tell them where the Lost Warrior is, then I'm dead. 

Fuck. I'm going to die.

I struggle blindly, trying to pull away from the monster's grip on my arms, begging for mercy. I'm tired. I know nothing. He's going to kill me. The creature is still talking to me, taunting me with his soundless words, and I try to hit him, but my limbs feel useless, like they belong to someone else. And then the darkness begins to creep into the corners of my vision, and I feel myself slipping away. I am sinking, enveloped by blissful darkness.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I hope I'm dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, about this one. I'm not entirely happy with it, and it's a bit short, but I promise we'll start to move on with the story in the next chapter! Feel free to leave a comment, or just kudos if you prefer. =D


	7. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real - it's all for fun. =)

"Jack, wake up. Wake up, you lazy sod. Don't make me whack you."

"Gerroff me, Dean. S'not even light yet," Jack grunted, swatting at the hands that were shaking him vigorously. 

"We're leaving, Jack. Get up." 

Jack's eyes flew open as he turned to stare at Dean in incredulity. 

"Wait, what? Leaving? Why are we leaving?"

"Dan and Tim saw Advocates massing nearby when they were on watch. They're getting ready for an ambush," Dean said briskly, stepping back from Jack and setting about rolling up his blanket and stuffing it into his rucksack.

Jack struggled into a sitting position, hurriedly following his friend's example. 

"Christ, Dean. How many?"

"I don't know. Dan said maybe thirty? Thirty-five?" 

"Fuck."

They fell into rapt silence, packing away the remains of their supplies before picking up their guns and making their way over to the centre of the warehouse, where the old oil drum was situated. The young man they and Tom had found the night before was still lying where he had been the last time they saw him, sweat beading on his forehead. He was feverish. That was not a good sign. 

"We can't do that, Ben. He'll die without us," Tom was saying angrily to the other man.

"Oh shut up, Tom. He's going to die with us too. Look at the state of him. He's got a raging fever and is out cold. Actually, no, scratch that. He's going to get us all killed. He'll just slow us down, unless you fancy running with him over your shoulder all the way to our next destination," Ben snarled, his gun held in a tight grip, his fingers squeezing every now and then in his agitation. "I say we put the guy out of his misery and shoot him. Besides, you seem to have forgotten the fact that we still don't know if he's an Advocate."

"If he was an Advocate he'd have recovered by now. The Entity lives inside them, gets inside their brains...It makes them believe that pain and injury is nothing more than an inconvenience - you know, like zombies. Sorry to burst your bubble, Ben, but he's human," Dean said quickly, moving between the two men. 

Ben glowered at him for a long moment before turning back to Tom. "I won't let you put all our lives in danger for the sake of this one man who we know nothing about. Shoot him, Tom. Shoot him now."

Tom stared at him, fury turning his expression cold and hard. Then, moving close to the other man's face, he spat, "No."

Ben's eyes hardened then, his expression set. 

"Fine then. Great. But remember this: I won't be blaming myself when you are all left dead and rotting in a ditch."

Then, with an air of finality, he turned and stormed from the building, leaving Tom, Jack and Dean staring after him.

"Leave him. He'll be back soon. He just needs to let off a bit of steam. Phil?" Tom suddenly called over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" replied Phil from beside the oil drum where he was in deep conversation with Dan and Louise. 

"Help me carry him. Get one of his arms around your shoulders. We're going to be running, so make sure he's secure."

The unconscious stranger let out a groan at the sudden movement, his eyes rolling beneath his eyelids, but he didn't come to, nor did he struggle at all. Wincing, Tom said, "Christ, he's burning up. We need to find another base soon, or his condition's going to get a lot worse, what with his head wound. Come on. We're leaving."

It was as these words left his lips that the gunshot sounded, followed by Emma racing in, her eyes wide with terror. 

"They're coming! Move it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this! =D I hope it's OK...I'm a bit happier with this chapter, although nothing much happens. Please feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you are enjoying it. I love hearing what you guys think!


	8. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! =) Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I OWN NONE OF THE YOUTUBERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real - it's all for fun. =)

"Fuck, Jack..."

"Shut up." There was a pause as Jack scrabbled desperately for a bottle of vodka he had stashed in his rucksack before saying angrily, "I mean what the fuck, Dean? What the hell were you thinking?"

"It was going to shoot you, Jack. Ow! Watch it!"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that you throw yourself into the fucking firing line, does it? What are you, a bloody idiot?" Jack snarled, fury making him forget to be gentle with the other man as he pressed the fabric against the wound fiercely. 

"Ow! Christ, Jack, don't press so - fucking OW!" 

"Stop whining. It's just a graze."

"Oh, so now it's 'just a graze', is it? Fucking...stop doing that! What are you trying to do, break my arm?" 

"Stop. Whining."

"I'm not whining! Look, Jack..." He paused for a moment to hiss in pain, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "It was going to shoot you in the head. Do you think I was going to stand by and let that happen? You should be grateful..."

He couldn't help but let out a cry of pain when Jack squeezed his arm tightly before looking up. The breath caught in Dean's throat at the pain, terror and anger in his eyes, so intense that it looked ready to explode out of him at any moment.

"Don't say that. Don't EVER say that. I would not be grateful. Dean...how the hell could I be grateful if I lived and you...you were dead - and because of me? How do you think that would make me feel?"

Dean stared at the other man, shocked into speechlessness. 

"I would feel fucking terrible, Dean! How could I be grateful when the most..." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves before going on. "...when the most important person in my life...my best friend...is dead?"

Dean looked down, unable to meet Jack's gaze, because he knew it was true, and he knew he would feel the same if he was in Jack's position. There was a pregnant pause, thick with questions, apologies, declarations...things that they wanted to say but wouldn't...or were simply too afraid to say. It was like a swarm of bees, buzzing so loudly that although they were surrounded by nothing but silence, they could barely hear their own thoughts. Finally, Jack let out a long sigh, shaking his head and loosening his grip on Dean's arm slightly.

"Just...don't do it again. Please."

Looking up, Dean felt a twinge in his heart at the pleading expression on the other man's face, and knew that he couldn't deny him this - at least...not for now. 

"I won't. I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to scare you," he said softly, shame turning his face deep red. 

Jack nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. Neither of them could promise the other anything like that: something so huge. Dean knew he would do it again in a heartbeat, and he knew that Jack would do it for him too. It was just how it was, and nothing could change that. But for now, he held still and allowed Jack to patch up the wound, allowing the gentle fingers to clean it and wrap it in bandages, in sharp contrast to their earlier roughness. He was right - it was only a graze. The bullet had cut through the side of his arm but passed straight through, leaving a relatively shallow gash which hurt and bled more than it was worth. Dean would be fine, so long as they kept an eye on it and made sure it didn't become infected.

They said no more on the matter, but stayed close to each other for the rest of the night, neither quite able to meet the other's eyes. The newfound proximity between the two didn't go unnoticed amongst the other camp members, and neither did the occasional glances the two shared when they thought the other wasn't looking. 

But no-one said anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? I actually quite like this chapter - I'm finally beginning to understand how Jack and Dean's relationship is going to pan out. I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it! I love hearing your feedback!


	9. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while - revision's a bitch. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! =)
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real - it's all for fun. =)

I'm cold. That's the first thing I notice when I come to. There is a cold breeze pinching my skin, making me break out in goosebumps. The next thing I notice is the pain. Not a sharp, stabbing pain like it used to be, but a dull, relentless aching, like I've got bruises all over my body. I try to move, but the aching in my joints intensifies, and my head begins to spin. Christ, I feel like shit. I let out a low groan of discomfort. There is something hard and sharp poking into my back. I want to move, but every time I try, every muscle in my body protests violently. So, I can't be dead, then. But if I'm not dead...then where am I? And how the hell have I managed to stay alive? From my experience, unconscious people don't seem to have the ability to feed themselves - or the ability to walk about, for that matter. And yet, the last thing I remember is stumbling across an enormous, flat plain before I blacked out.

I am brought sharply to the present by a hand on my shoulder. My eyes fly open and I instinctively flinch away, my muscles screaming at the sudden movement. I let out a gasp of terror. It's them. So my attempted escape was a failure. The Advocates caught up with me. I try to shout, but my vocal chords aren't working, and that only succeeds in making panic blossom in my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs and chilling my heart. 

"Hey...mate? Are you...are you waking up?"

"P-please..." I manage to croak out, desperation and terror giving me enough strength to lift my arms and start clawing at the hand that grips my shoulder.

"Oh bugger. Er...right. Dude, calm down. Stop struggling. I'm not going to hurt you."

That voice. I know that voice. And yet the familiarity of it sends shudders of revulsion down my spine. I turn my head, wildly searching for a face to go with the voice. When I see him, my blood runs cold. I can't remember having seen the face before, but something tells me deep within myself that he is an Advocate. He seems to see the panic in my expression, and he reaches out again, putting one hand on either shoulder. I brace myself. 

I scream.

***

Tom stared down at the young man, seeing the panic beginning to build in his eyes. He was as pale as death and still slightly groggy, but Tom knew he was about to scream. So he was ready for it when the stranger did start to bellow at the top of his voice. Immediately clapping a hand over his mouth, Tom ignored the feeling of teeth working fruitlessly at the calloused palm of his hand whilst bringing his face close to the man's and hissing, "Shut up. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm not an Advocate. You need to calm down, or they're going to find us and then we'll all be screwed. So shut it."

"Tom? What's going on?"

It was Bing, propped up on his elbows and staring at them, bewildered, eyes slightly glazed with fatigue.

"It's fine, Bing. The guy's finally woken up, that's all. I've got it under control. Go back to sleep."

"He's awake? Are you sure you can handle it?"

Tom glowered at him. "He's still weak. I'm not a five year old. Go back to sleep."

Uncertainly but not begrudgingly, as he was clearly still bone-tired, Bing paused before shrugging, rolling back over and falling asleep within five seconds.

Throughout the exchange, the young man stared up at Tom, wide-eyed and confused. He made no move to show his understanding of either man's words, and after a minute or so, Tom guessed he was just going to have to risk it. Slowly, never breaking eye contact with the stranger, he moved his hand away from the other man's mouth. There was a long silence as Tom slowly leant back, loosening his grip on his shoulder. The man simply stared at him, eyes wide and scared.

"Right. Good. Stay quiet for me, yeah? We can't afford to make any noise, otherwise they're going to hear us, OK? Can you do that?" Tom asked, speaking slowly and deliberately, making sure that everything he said was understood. 

After a pause, the man nodded. Then, his voice soft and hoarse, he murmured, "Who are you?"

"Tom. Tom Ridgewell. And you?"

"You're not an Advocate?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "We've already been through this, mate. If I was an Advocate I would have killed you already."

The man paused, his expression thoughtful, before saying, "Matt Hargreaves."

"Matt. Right then. We're getting somewhere." Tom smiled and reached out to pat Matt's shoulder, but the young man responded by flinching at the movement, seeming to curl into himself. Sighing, Tom pulled his hand back. 

This was going to take a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Did you enjoy it? I'm quite happy with this chapter - I hope Matt's recovery (or at least his waking up) was not rushed. What do you guys think? Please feel free to leave kudos and/or comments if you have the time! =) Thanks!


	10. Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry I've been ages updating this. I've been very busy recently. :/ Anyway, this chapter's a bit longer, so I hope I've made up for it! Oh, and just to clarify, Darcy and Matt (Louise's daughter and husband) don't exist in this universe. I didn't think it was fair to write a story like this about such personal figures in Louise's life. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I DON'T CLAIM ANY PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real. It's all for fun. =)

Being on the move for three days, whilst not being the longest distance the group had ever travelled, had taken its toll on Matt and Dean. Whilst Dean tried not to let his discomfort show, accepting help only when it was absolutely necessary, (and even then only from Jack), Matt was still confused, occasionally delirious and very paranoid. Plus, he was still suffering with his head wound, which was healing nicely, but still quite painful. During breaks or at night, he would sit with his back flush against a tree, a wall or anything that meant that his back was not exposed, he would draw his knees up to his chest and he would just stay like that, all night, never moving and not falling asleep until the person on watch sat by him and promised to make sure no Advocates came for him in his sleep. Tom was still the only person he was comfortable with speaking to, but Tom was almost certain he had seen the man having a timid conversation with Chris and PJ once. 

The group had accepted Matt willingly, once they realised that he was able to walk for himself and was not so much of a liability. Ben had also stopped wanting to kill him, albeit a little grudgingly, which was a progression, although Tom had often seen the other man's hands clench convulsively around the weapon whenever Matt came near. Tom had to remind himself that Ben just had a different way of dealing with the trauma of the past year to everyone else - although he couldn't say he approved. 

By the time they found another place to set up camp, even Tom was beginning to feel exhausted. It was little more than a derelict cottage. The roof had half fallen in, most of the windows were smashed and the front door was lying discarded on the floor just inside the entrance. However, there was a fresh water supply from the kitchen taps, and enough smashed up wood to keep a fire going for days. Plus, it was far from any undergrowth or trees which could hide a potential ambush, except for the slightly overgrown hedges on either side of the road, and yet it was not too far from the main road, so they would be able to tell if there were troops approaching. It was perfect. A little cold, maybe, and any light they produced would be easily seen from a long way away, but they had blankets, and they could find things to black out the windows. 

When he first caught sight of the cottage, Tom turned to face the group, nodding.

"There's a place up ahead. Looks abandoned, but of course we can't be sure. Tim, Bing, Emma, you come with me. We'll go ahead to check it's safe. Everyone else, stay on your guard. Ben, if anything comes up, you're in charge, OK?"

The red-haired man paused before nodding uncertainly. Tom smiled and held out his hand. The other members of the group watched in tense silence as Ben regarded the outstretched arm for a moment before seeming to come to a conclusion and hesitantly reached out to grasp Tom's forearm. There was an audible sigh of relief from the spectators. Ben and Tom's relationship had been almost non-existent over the past few days, particularly since Matt had come into the picture. The two had used to be close friends, but being the two natural leaders in the group did cause a bit of...tension between them. Despite that, Tom still considered Ben his second-in-command, although that title did occasionally fall to Jack or Dean.

Nodding at the rest of the group, Tom gestured to Tim, Bing and Emma to follow his lead before turning, priming his gun and starting forward. 

***

Matt watched Tom go, eyes wide with concern. He felt the familiar, gnawing ache in his insides at Tom's departure, and was almost tempted to run after the other man before Ben started telling them to go and hide behind the hedges. Swept along with the rest of the group, he was forced to comply, following the other fugitives as they climbed over a rusted metal gate, half consumed by the hedge, and into the field beyond, making sure to keep close to the hedge so that they would see Tom and the others when they returned. Sitting a little way away from the rest of the group, Matt started to fidget, uncomfortable without Tom close by. He had never used to be like this: skittish, paranoid, painfully shy...before he was taken by the Advocates, he had been the life and soul of the party. But that's what happened when you entered the Hub. It messed with your mind. 

Glancing over at PJ and Chris, Matt recalled the moment he had first seen them. He had known in those first split seconds that those two had been in the Hub and somehow managed to escape. They were both broken, lost somewhere deep inside their minds, and that was why they needed each other. That was also why Matt only ever spoke to them, except, of course, for Tom. They understood him. They sympathised with him in ways that no-one else could. Of course, Jack and Dean had been in the Hub too and somehow managed to escape, but they were exceedingly lucky. They couldn't have been there long - not more than a few days, at the most. You didn't enter the Hub and come out without any form of mental trauma. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Matt was briefly bombarded with fuzzy memories of his time in the Hub. He remembered the rigorous tests and experiments, the rituals they put him through as they started to turn him into one of them. He remembered the voice of the Entity, loud, persistent and constant, never giving his mind a moment's rest. He remembered the day the Lost Warrior escaped. He shook that thought away quickly. He couldn't even think of his name without a violent shudder passing down his spine.

He thought about Tom instead. He hadn't been in the Hub. Once the initial panic of seeing the other man for the first time after his fever broke had died away, he had clearly seen that the other man hadn't been to that nightmarish place. Matt often asked himself if this was so, then why did he feel so comfortable talking to him? Why Tom, when the other man clearly didn't understand his predicament as much as people like PJ and Chris did? 

He was kind. He was friendly. He was funny. He listened when no-one else would. 

Tom had told Matt the story of how Ben was not exactly thrilled when he had brought him home, delirious, feverish and hallucinatory. He had told him how the majority of the group had been reluctant to bring him with them, as he would slow them down. He had told him how he had stood up for him and refused to leave him behind to die. That was why Matt spoke to him. The man had saved his life. He habitually scratched the bandage on his forehead before quickly drawing his hand away with a hiss of pain. His wound was going to take a little longer to heal yet.

"Hey there."

Surprised, Matt looked up at the voice. It was Louise, standing over him with a shy smile on her face.

"Um...can I sit down?"

Heart pounding as the panic started to close around his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, Matt started to clench and unclench his fists repeatedly, refusing to meet Louise's eyes. Sighing at the lack of response, the woman sat down anyway.

"So...how are you? You look exhausted."

Still no response. Matt's brain was in turmoil. She was trying to be friendly, but he didn't want to talk to her. She didn't understand! She hadn't been in the Hub! He couldn't talk to her. She would think he was crazy. She would want to hand him right back to the Entity. His throat seemed to close up, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, hands trembling as he raised them to his ears, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want to talk to her. 

Go away, he pleaded silently. Please go away. I don't want to talk to you! You don't understand!

Shocked by the extreme reaction, Louise said softly, "Um...Matt? Are you OK?" Pausing, she hesitantly put out a hand to try to comfort the young man, but he flinched back at the touch like he had been burned.

It was then that the group heard Tom's soft calls from the other side of the road. The house was safe. They could finally set up camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I'm quite pleased with this chapter, because I was able to explore Matt's mentality a little more. Please feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. I love hearing your feedback! =D


	11. Gloves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to update, guys. =( Once again, the chapter's a bit longer, so I hope this will suffice! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS IN THIS STORY!
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real - it's all for fun. =)

Jack was cold. But then, that was nothing new, was it? Everyone was cold in this bloody cottage, mainly because it was nearly December and it was threatening to snow. Although, to be fair, it was better than the warehouse, where hoarfrost would form on their blankets and in their hair during the night, unless they slept right next to the fire, which was impossible for everyone to do. There was only one fire, and quite a lot more of them. 

And Jack still had no gloves. He smiled ruefully. The last time he had complained to himself about gloves was on the very night that they had found Matt; the night the group had slowly started to fall apart. Glancing over at the lump in the corner of the room where Matt slept, Jack tried to make himself hate him. He should hate him, for everything he had put his friends through. For everything he had put Dean through. But he found that he couldn't, and Jack knew that it was because it really wasn't Matt's fault. How could it be? He had spent god knows how long in one of the most feared places on Earth and come out alive. The group should be admiring him for his resilience. Jack admired him, and he knew Dean and PJ did too, because they had spent time in the Hub too, and it really was not fun. 

Jack smirked humourlessly to himself. Fun. Ha. That was one way of putting it. Looking down at his hands, he twiddled his thumbs anxiously. They had only been based in the cottage for a week, and he was already restless. He hated this. This constant delay, waiting for something - anything - to happen. Burying his face in his hands, he let out a soft groan of frustration. He was tired of this goddamn fucking apocalypse. If they were all going to die, or be taken by the Entity, then he wished they'd get on with it, because anything was better than this continuous waiting. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he clenched his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, and waited for the rising heat of his rage to gradually cool. His temper had been worsening for the past couple of weeks, and he didn't want to be the cause of yet another disagreement in the camp. They already had enough of that from Tom and Ben, who were at each other's throats again for no apparent reason. One of them would do the tiniest thing, like accidentally knock an old beam over, or step on a pane of glass, and the other would be on them in a moment, bellowing like a bloody cow in labour. At least, that was what Alex had called it, causing much hilarity amongst the other members of the camp. 

Upon opening his eyes, his gaze almost automatically strayed to Dean, who was lying on his right, fast asleep. It was something Jack found himself doing often nowadays, ever since the incident where Dean had thrown himself in front of Jack to save him. Jack couldn't even look at the other man without the image of his body convulsing as the bullet ripped through the flesh of his shoulder and tore out the other side. Jesus, he had been lucky. If the Advocate had aimed a few centimetres to the left, Dean would have had practically no shoulder left. Luckily, over the past week, now that the group had stopped to rest, Dean's shoulder had been healing nicely. It was still extremely tender, but within another week or so the scar tissue should be fully formed.

Reaching out almost subconsciously, Jack made to run his fingers through Dean's hair gently, but quickly pulled his hand back when the sleeping man let out a little snore and rolled over so that his back was facing him. Dean needed his sleep, and Jack didn't want to wake him up. Sighing, he simply sat, gazing absently at the sleeping man, pondering the thoughts and feelings that had begun to manifest over the past couple of weeks. It hadn't been a sudden 'light bulb' moment. It was a slow process that he realised now had been developing ever since he had first met Dean. To be truthful, he still wasn't entirely sure what these feelings were, but he was willing to wait and see what the future brought.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Nearly jumping out of his skin at the voice, Jack let out a muffled cry of, "Shit!" before turning to see Carrie, his watch partner, moving to sit beside him, placing her gun carefully upon her knees. A broad grin was plastered upon her face when she saw that she had startled him. 

"Christ, Carrie. You could have warned me," Jack hissed, glaring at her.

"I did, you plonker," Carrie smirked. "You were just so besotted that you didn't hear me."

"Shut up, you tit."

There was a lengthy pause as Carrie giggled to herself, cupping her chin with one hand and watching as Jack slowly lost interest and looked back down at Dean. 

"It's OK, you know. You don't have to feel embarrassed or scared or anything. Nobody cares," she finally said softly.

"About what?"

With a smile, Carrie's gaze momentarily flickered down to rest upon Dean before returning to look at Jack again. "You know what."

Jack glowered at her, cocking his head to one side. "No, I really don't."

Frowning, Carrie sat up properly. "Really? You really don't know?" 

"No, I don't. I told you. So what are you on about?"

"Wow. That's just...wow. Well...I guess it's not really my place to tell you. You'll figure it out sometime."

Hesitating for a moment, Jack simply put up his hands in an expression of resignation before wrapping them around himself and fixing his gaze back on Dean.

"Nothing outside?" he asked.

"Nope. We're safe for now."

"Good."

Another pause.

"I hate this," murmured Carrie, so softly that Jack barely heard her.

"What?"

"Being on the run. I know it's stupid and pointless to reminisce about the old times, but...I don't know. I just miss the world before the Entity and the Advocates."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one."

Yet another pause, punctuated by the sound of Phil snoring in the corner. Looking at one another briefly, they both proceeded to giggle at the sound. It felt good to laugh, Jack thought. He had not laughed for a long time. There just wasn't much to laugh about these days. 

God, he needed to lighten up a little or he'd turn into a grouchy old man before he was twenty-five.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Just...live each day, OK? Do whatever you want to do, because, well...I don't think we're going to be, you know...us for much longer."

"What are you trying to say, Carrie? Because you know I'm crap at riddles."

Carrie chuckled half-heartedly. "Yes you are. I'm not saying anything, but...just...don't waste the time you have left and die regretting it, OK?"

And with that, she offered him one last weak smile before getting to her feet and returning to her post outside, leaving behind a very cold and extremely confused Jack. After watching her leave, bemused by the sudden rapid change in mood, he looked down at his hands, which had turned almost completely blue.

He really needed to get some gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I liked writing Carrie into this chapter. I'm going to try to include some of the characters who haven't really had their spot in the limelight in the next few chapters, whilst not diverting from the main story. I hope this was OK, though! Feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you have the time! Thank you!


	12. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to update. Summer's kind of taken over my life and made me procrastinate even more than usual! Even so, this is the longest chapter yet and I'm quite pleased with it, all things considered. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY! 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!
> 
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real. It's all just for fun. =)

Chris was jerked roughly from slumber by the feeling of someone shaking him vigorously. 

"Hm? What? Whassit?" he grumbled, groggily pulling his scarf up higher around his ears, as it had slipped down during the night.

"Chris, wake up. Advocates."

At this, Chris snapped to attention, his eyes flying open as he scrambled into a sitting position. It was Dan, eyes wide with anxiety. 

"W-what do you mean 'Advocates'?" Chris whispered, his blood running cold.

"Ben and Emma heard them when they were on watch, and when they went to investigate they found a whole fucking battalion on its way," Dan hissed, his voice urgent and laced with fear. "They're about ten minutes away and they're not getting any slower."

"Shit," mumbled Chris as he reached over to his rucksack, scrabbling through its contents until he found the ammunition stored at the bottom. "Shit, shit. Dan, go and wake the others."

As Dan moved on, Chris felt his hands begin to tremble convulsively as he attempted to load his gun, dropping several shells in the process. The sharp tinkling sound the small metal objects made as they struck the concrete floor was enough to make Chris' heart nearly thud out of his chest, cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He could feel the panic slowly grabbing hold of him in a way that it hadn't done for a long time. When PJ had left Chris' anxiety had nearly driven him mad. Panic attacks had become a regular occurrence - so much so that Chris had had to go and live with Dan and Phil for a time so that he would have someone there to help calm him down. Despite this, ever since PJ had returned his panic attacks had got fewer and further between, but this - this was too much. If the Advocates were to take PJ away from him again...he didn't think he would be able to survive it this time.

Pausing in his task, he let out a dry sob and allowed the as yet unloaded gun to clatter to the floor, making several others of the group curse and nearly jump out of their skins.

"Fucking Christ, Chris. Don't do that!" hissed Tim from his corner. 

Chris didn't trust himself to reply. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and his head was beginning to spin. His heart was beating too fast. He was curling up into a ball before he could stop it, trying to focus on regulating his breathing but failing miserably. 

Calm down, you fucking idiot. Calm down. If you don't you're going to get yourself killed.

It wasn't working. He was going to die. The Advocates were going to kill him, and they would kill PJ too because PJ wouldn't leave him behind. Short, harsh, gasping sobs began to tear at his lungs and his eyes burned with unshed tears. This was fucking ridiculous. Not now. He couldn't deal with this now.

"Chris? Chris!" 

Chris felt warm, gentle hands upon his shoulders, and then on his face, working into the nooks and crannies between his self-constructed cage of limbs to touch his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. 

"Chris, look at me. You have to look at me!"

PJ's voice was gentle yet firm - the exact tone of voice Chris used on him whenever he was having one of his episodes. Slowly, Chris was able to gradually lift his head until he was staring into PJ's familiar green eyes like they were a lifeline. As long as he could see those eyes, he was safe. 

"You have to breathe, Chris. You know how to breathe? Come on, you can do it. Copy me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

It was a struggle, but eventually Chris was able to start breathing at the same pace as PJ, clinging to his forearms like they were his anchor, keeping him from being swept away into darkness. PJ rested his forehead against his, never breaking their eye contact, and slowly but surely Chris felt the panic begin to ebb away and diminish until it was once again trapped in that little box he kept at the very back of his head - concealed, but never entirely gone. 

"That's it. You did it," PJ breathed, bringing Chris close to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly about him and kissing his forehead gently. 

Chris responded by twisting his fingers into PJ's t-shirt, the violent shaking of his body gradually easing until he was still, just breathing in PJ's warm, familiar scent. 

"Thank you," he murmured shakily, slowly drawing back from PJ, scrubbing the back of his hand across his red-rimmed eyes.

PJ smiled sadly, reaching up to gently stroke Chris' cheek with the pad of his thumb, rough and calloused from the constant handling of guns for the past few years. They paused for a moment, revelling in this brief moment of quietness before the storm began. 

"Guys, I appreciate that you're having a moment, but the Advocates are on their way and we're not going to wait for you if you choose to stay here," said Tom, shattering the illusion of peace.

Glaring at him briefly, PJ turned back to Chris. "Are you OK now? Do you want me to help you with your gun?"

"I'm fine. I can do it," Chris replied hesitantly, reaching out towards the weapon and taking a deep breath before proceeding to load it, glad when his hands remained steady.

PJ's lips quirked into another small smile before doing the same for his own gun. 

"Emma, d'you know where they are?" Tom asked from the doorway.

"Coming down the road from the west. They're all heavily armed. It's going to be a bloodbath if we don't get a move on," Emma replied, standing a little way away in deep conversation with Louise and Bing.

"What I'd like to know is how the hell they managed to find us so quickly," said Louise.

"To be honest, I don't think they have found us yet, Louise. If they had they'd be moving with more caution. A fucking deaf man would be able to hear these guys coming from a mile off," said Bing, attempting to lighten the mood with a wry smirk. 

"Will you three stop nattering and get a fucking move on! We need to get out of here!" hissed Ben from his position by Tom just outside the doorway, his eyes hard and yet wild with a mixture of terror and an almost feral hunger. It wasn't a particularly comforting combination.

The group fell silent at this and hurriedly finished getting their meagre supply of belongings together, hauling their rucksacks onto their backs and clasping their loaded and primed rifles in white-knuckled grips. Tom, who was standing just outside the doorway with Ben and Matt poked his head back in. Seeing that everyone was ready, he nodded and hissed, "We're going east. Follow Ben and I and you'll be OK. No shooting unless the Advocates open fire, d'you hear me? Good. Good luck everyone. See you on the other side."

Chris watched, heart pounding with adrenaline and fear as Tom turned and started forward, closely followed by Ben, Matt and then the rest of the group. Pausing for a moment, Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Chris?" Eyes flying open, Chris saw PJ standing in the doorway, head cocked to one side with an expression of concern upon his face. "Come on, we can't be left behind."

Breathing out heavily before grasping his rifle in a tight grip, Chris moved forward to stand before PJ. Pressing a quick and fierce kiss to the other man's lips, he leaned back to gaze up at him, a newfound clarity and determination in his eyes.

"Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Like I said, I'm pretty proud of this one. I do love writing Chris and PJ's scenes. :3 Feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. I really love hearing your feedback!


	13. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to update. I had writer's block and then school came along, so it's been a bit difficult to fit writing back into my schedule. Even so, I hope you still enjoy this chapter! And I apologise in advance for the angst. I'm not sure if it's well-written angst, but it's angst nonetheless. XD
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY!  
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS!  
> And yes, I know none of the pairings are real. It's all for fun. :)

Matt clutched his gun to his chest with slippery fingers. His heart pounded low and loud in his ears, like a war drum playing in a never-ending mantra. His throat and mouth felt dry and gritty, like sandpaper. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. His ears were ringing with a disorienting cacophony of high-pitched squeals, making it intensely difficult for him to concentrate on anything else. And that was not a particularly safe state to be in when you were tiptoeing across a field, trying to avoid being spotted by an army of Advocates baying for your blood. Taking in a shaky breath, he attempted to soothe his rapidly fraying nerves, ignoring the growing violence of the tremors in his hands. 

He was being stupid. He couldn't let his fears take over. Not now, when it mattered the most. Not now, when one wrong move could expose the entire camp to the Advocates. When one wrong move could expose _Tom_ to the Advocates. 

At the thought of the other man, he swallowed nervously before peering at him out of the corner of his eye. It was very dark, so he could only make out Tom's silhouette against the sky, dark grey with the promise of dawn. He could feel the heat radiating outwards from the other man, as well as the smell of sweat, gunshot and something else that was inexplicably  _Tom_ underneath it all. He could hear his deep, even breathing which didn't waver once as he moved forward, silent and watchful as a cat. Matt could sense no fear from the other man - only a relentless determination and need for survival, no matter what the cost. He always sensed the same things whenever he was near Ben. That was why the two of them clashed. They were too similar for their own good. 

He could just about see Ben on his other side, holding his gun in the same position as Tom: to his shoulder, ready to shoot at any moment. Matt swallowed nervously. Despite the fact that the red-haired man had stopped voicing his desire to shoot him in the head, Matt knew that this desire was not gone. He still saw the disdainful looks the other man gave him when he thought Matt wasn't looking. Despite the fact that Matt's head was almost completely healed, Ben still regarded him as a liability. Perhaps it was because Matt was the one who was least competent with a gun. Perhaps he blamed him for Dean getting shot a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps he didn't like how close he and Tom were. Perhaps he just didn't like him. 

Matt didn't know, but either way, he was tired of feeling angry with Ben for his hostility. It was much easier to just get on with his life, disregarding all the snide comments sent his way. He had enough going on in his brain without having to worry about Ben too. 

He realised that he was lagging behind a little when he suddenly found himself accidentally being kicked in the heel by Charlie before a strong hand wrapped around his arm to haul him forward. 

"Are you alright?"

Despite the hoarse, whispered tone, Matt was gratified to hear an undeniable note of concern in Tom's voice.

"Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking," he replied softly.

"Don't think now. It's too dangerous. Think when we're safely away from these bloody Advocates," Tom hissed gruffly.

"Yes, Tom. Sorry."

Matt felt Tom's hand linger for a few moments upon his shoulder (perhaps a few moments longer than usual) before it was gone, the sudden lack of contact leaving him even more hyperaware of the other man's presence than before. 

At this point they were drawing near to the hedgerow which separated the field in which the cottage was situated from the next, and Matt could not help but feel an impending sense of triumph. They were going to make it. Each field they crossed took them further away from the road, and further away from the Advocates. His heart in his mouth, he felt the determination to reach the next field overcome the underlying terror that had been stuck like a lump in his throat ever since he had come to in the warehouse, and before he knew what he was doing he was running forward, his legs carrying him across the field at a speed he hadn't known it was possible to reach. He distantly registered the sound of Tom telling him to come back. That it wasn't safe.

He ignored him. All that mattered was that he got away. 

He ran until he reached the gate, at which point he skidded to a halt. He crashed into the cold, rusted metal and nearly slipped over backwards, his mouth open in a silent scream of horror. He was frozen for a moment, heart pounding in his throat, air rushing in his ears. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He turned.

"RUN!"

A gunshot sounded.

And everything went to hell.

***

He could barely breathe. Rifles stuttered around him and bullets whisked past with deadly intent. He let out a bellow of sheer, unconstrained fury as he pulled the trigger of his own gun, firing at what he hoped was an Advocate's head. Someone screamed somewhere close by, and his mouth went dry. Shit, was that Louise? Tears of terror and fury blurred his vision as he cut down another Advocate just ahead. But no matter how many he killed, two more appeared to take their place. They were fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. 

He had failed them. He had failed all of them. 

He had failed Matt. 

Matt. The absolute bloody, fucking idiot. He had started all this. He had attracted the Advocates with his scream that night, all those weeks ago. He had come barrelling into Tom's life. He had made everything go to pot. It was him. 

But Tom couldn't bring himself to care. 

"TOM! LOOK OUT!"

A scream. A gunshot. A body. 

For once, Tom was silent. 

***

They couldn't go back to find Ben's body. Nor Alex's. Nor Emma's. The three of them were lost in the sea of mud, blood and bodies of that field near the place that had been their asylum for too short a time. Perhaps they had been taken by the Advocates to be turned into one of them, or to be experimented upon, as they sometimes did to those opponents of theirs who did not make it past the trial of the primary battle. But no-one wanted to think about that. 

After the initial horror of seeing the sea of Advocates awaiting them in ambush, the group had done whatever they could to gun down as many of them as they could before they got past the gate. Matt had nearly been shot in the head as he turned tail and ran a short distance before tripping over his own feet and landing flat on his face, where he remained for most of the rest of the skirmish. No Advocates had paid him any heed, until Tim had rushed over to pull him to his feet, followed by a mad dash for anywhere other than there. 

Alex had fallen within the first five minutes. Emma followed a short time after. 

And then there was Ben. 

No-one had been able to stop him, they all told Tom. There was nothing anyone could do. He had made up his mind. 

Tom still blamed himself. If he had been looking at what he was doing instead of allowing himself to become distracted, Ben might still be alive. 

Matt avoided his gaze as best he could.

Those of the group who had escaped had, after those three had fallen had realised pretty soon that there was no hope for them staying and fighting. They had run as hard as they could, simultaneously shooting down as many Advocates as possible and trying not to trip over the churned up ground. They had made it, but only just. Phil had taken a bullet to the foot, whilst one had grazed Charlie's midriff, leaving behind a shallow but painful and bloody gash. 

They were on the move again, and this time none of them had any idea where they were going.

***

"Where's Peej?"

"What?"

"Has anyone seen Peej? Guys, where is he?"

"I don't know, Chris. Where was he on the field?"

"I don't fucking know, Jack! Do you think I'd be fucking asking if I knew? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?"

"Chris, calm down..."

"You shut the fuck up, Jack Howard. Shut up. We've just narrowly escaped being annihilated by a force of Advocates and my boyfriend is fucking missing. And you're fucking ASKING ME TO BE CALM!"

"Hey, Chris, mate, take it easy...shit. Where's he going?"

"Fuck. PJ's missing, Jack. He's going back to find him."

"...Oh bloody Christ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whaddaya think? Any good? Again, I apologise profusely for the long wait. I hope you haven't all given up on this story, because I'm determined to finish it...but we have a little way to go yet. :) Please feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time! Thank you, and I'll try to update sometime in the near(ish) future! ;)


	14. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilloooo everyone! Sorry for the huge hiatus. Writing has become a secondary thing recently - I've just had so little time. School and exam preparation has just taken over my life. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!  
> 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS INCLUDED IN THIS STORY! (Because that would be bad).  
> 
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS.  
> 
> 
> And yes, I know none of the relationships included are real. It's all just for fun. :)

He hadn't been able to stop himself. It had called to him, Its voice, harsh and penetrating like the voice of Satan himself, battering down every wall he had so carefully constructed around his fragile mind like they were made of cardboard. Gasping like a fish out of water, he stumbled on the battlefield, one hand reaching up to clutch desperately at the unruly mess of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing it would make no difference and yet unable to just stand there and do nothing.

He wasn't an Advocate. He wasn't an Advocate.

Not anymore. 

Never again.

But...the voice...Its voice...it was so dark and just so... _everywhere_ , so _all-consuming_ \- like the abyss calling out to him to jump, coercing, persuading, commanding...he couldn't stop it.

_**You have returned to us, Lost Warrior. You have returned to our Brotherhood.** _

"No...no I won't go with you! I left you! I escaped!"

_**You abandoned us. You left us wandering aimlessly in the dark.** _

"No, no I didn't! I escaped! I was never part of any...AGH!"

A sharp stab of pain in the very core of his brain sent him reeling, scrabbling desperately outwards, searching for purchase on anything, even a thorny hedgerow, which happened to be the only thing nearby. No, no, no. He couldn't let this happen again. He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't allow this to happen.

But it was happening. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Letting out a helpless cry of despair and pain, he dropped to his knees, the sound of Its voice filling his every thought, every nook and cranny of his brain, digging Its way in and holding Itself there with jagged spears of white-hot agony. 

"No, no, no, I left you...I left you! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

_**Nobody leaves the Brotherhood, Lost Warrior. You are, and always will be, one of us.** _

And PJ screamed, tugging at his hair as he brought his knees up to his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks as he began to rock back and forth again and again until it was the only thing keeping him conscious. The voice was coating his thoughts with thick, sludgy darkness, gradually reclaiming his mind cell by microscopic cell - it was this singular rocking motion which kept him from sinking under completely. 

He fought. God, did he fight. He fought tooth and nail. He cried out, feeling his throat tearing with the screams as he clung onto what little he could still discern from his tar-coated, sluggish thoughts which were already slowly fading into oblivion. He couldn't even remember his own name. 

But then, he found something. An image, really. No background information, nothing but a face - the face of a man, a young man, perhaps around his age, with brown hair with a fringe and a wide smile, and something in his heart tugged at the image and he knew somehow that this man was important to him - immensely important. So he clung onto the image of that man, his heart aching at the sight of it as it grew smaller and smaller, the encroaching darkness becoming thicker and more stifling, until, with a final gasp for air, he was submerged.

***

Chris didn't have time to reach the scene of the battle before he felt two pairs of strong arms restraining him, holding him back, and rage, white-hot and as pure as ice exploded within his chest, sending him screaming and thrashing as wildly as possible in a desperate attempt to free himself. 

"LET ME GO! HE'S OUT THERE! HE MIGHT BE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! I HAVE TO FIND HIM! GET OFF!"

"Chris, mate, calm down! Listen, you can't go back there. You'll be dead before you reach the field," Jack cried, his voice tense with the effort of keeping the desperate man still.

"I HEARD HIM SCREAMING! I HEARD HIM...I...I heard him...I heard him screaming..."

And abruptly the struggling stopped as Chris dropped to his knees, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes before harsh, gut-wrenching sobs tore themselves from his throat and were thrown violently into the air, unwanted and saturated with unspeakable grief. 

"I c-can't lose him...please...I can't lose him..." he wept, shaking his head and digging his nails deep into the flesh of his captor's arms. However, the two men did little to prevent him from doing so - it hurt, but they didn't want to push him away just as he was beginning to edge closer towards them.

Jack and Dean spared a quick glance at one another, their hearts going out to the grief-stricken young man in their arms, but they didn't let go. They couldn't let go, or Chris would be lost to them. He would run straight back into the mouth of the beast without a second thought and be slaughtered, like Alex, and Emma, and Ben...and probably PJ too.

"Come on, mate. You're alright. You're alright."

Slowly, carefully, as if calming a spooked horse, they gradually got to their feet before making their way back over towards the rest of the group.

"Y-you're all just going to...t-to...l-leave him...you'd leave him j-just...just like that? LOOK AT ME YOU COWARDS!"

No-one dared to do so, their gazes fixed interminably upon the ground, their hearts heavy in their chests, their blood cold with dismay. 

***

Eyes blurred with tears and heart black with guilt, Matt sank backwards into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was it? I hope you enjoyed it - it's a bit of a filler chapter, I must admit, but I hope it was still OK. :) Please leave a comment/kudos if you have the time! Feedback is much appreciated. :)


	15. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry for the wait...it was sizeable this time and I literally can't put it down to anything other than a combination of laziness and a lack of inspiration. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE YOUTUBERS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE BAD
> 
> I CLAIM NO PROFIT FROM WRITING THIS
> 
> Yes, I know none of the pairings I write about are real. It's just for fun.

Ten days had passed since the group's encounter with the Advocates. After that terrible night they had been unable to do little else but carry on running, getting as far away from the battlefield as possible. Despite his initial resistance to being taken away, Chris had soon fallen into a familiar state of inaction, his eyes reacquiring the hollow, haunted look Phil recognised from that month when PJ had been taken last time. It was frightening and upsetting to see his friend regress in such a way. It didn't seem fair. Chris had done so well...he had begun to resemble the slightly broken yet still courageously happy young man he had been before PJ's first disappearance. Phil feared it wouldn't be quite so easy to reclaim that state of mind after these most recent events.

"I'm scared for Chris, Dan."

"You and me both."

Dan and Phil sat watching over Chris as he slept (it was their turn), an icy wind biting at their cheeks and nipping at their fingers, their threadbare gloves doing little to shield them from the cold. A fire was out of the question - there were no intact homesteads for miles around, and so their current position, pressed up against a wall dividing two fields, was far too exposed. The group was weakened, and everyone knew that they were not likely to survive a second attack like the last.

Phil felt like a ten-tonne weight was pressing upon his shoulders, leaving him cold and completely exhausted. Too many of his friends had died. Too many people he loved were gone. He was sick of this world. Sick of the Advocates, sick of the Hub, sick of the wind that was gnawing at his fingertips. He wished he could just curl up, go to sleep and never wake up again. Wished he could escape this nightmare. It just wasn't fair. Covering his face with his hands, he allowed himself a few silent sobs, his shoulders trembling with the effort to suppress them. He felt a gentle arm move tight around his shoulders, warm and comforting. 

"Hey, he'll make it," said Dan softly, although Phil could hear the note of doubt in his voice. "He'll pull through. You know he will. He always does. Remember how far under he was last time, and look how well he was doing before...before this mess."

"Yeah, but that was with PJ. PJ came back, Dan. Somehow, I don't think he'll escape the Hub a second time."

Dan was silent for a few moments. Phil knew he knew he was right. As much as he desperately wanted to be proved wrong, he knew Chris would never truly recover from this if PJ didn't come back. A tiny, crazy part of him wanted to run all the way back to the battlefield and find him, grab him and bring him back here, shove him into Chris' arms and yell at him never to do anything like that ever again because Chris  _needs_ you, PJ, and without you he's going to go  _mad!_

But Phil knew that was impossible and stupid, and all he could really do was stay here and do everything he could to make sure Chris was clean and fed and  _alive._ Maybe he'd get better in time. Phil knew it was awful of him to think it, but he was almost glad that Ben was...no longer there. The memory of how he had treated Matt when he had first joined the group was still fresh in Phil's mind, and he dreaded to think of what the red-haired man would have thought of Chris after this.

But it was no use thinking like that anyway. Ben was dead and PJ was gone and the rest of the group had been left behind to pick up the pieces and look after Chris. If they didn't Chris would die and they would have lost yet another member of their group. Friends were precious, and there were so few left in the world. That was why Phil was grateful to still have Dan around. He didn't know where he'd be without him. 

"Where d'you reckon Tom's leading us?" he asked after a pregnant pause, filled only by the howling of the wind in the craggy expanse of the tumbledown wall against which they had set up camp. 

"Fuck knows. In circles, if he's not careful. His eyes are too fixed on Matt to notice much else."

Phil couldn't help but blush. Most members of the camp had cottoned onto Tom and Matt's little thing that wasn't really a thing yet by now, and it was a common topic of conversation, partly because it was goddamn hilarious, but also because it was undeniably affecting Tom's judgement. Phil had overheard a conversation between Charlie and Tim the other day where they had said something about electing Jack or Dean as leader. Tom had become too distracted to be their leader, they had said. He wasn't focused enough anymore, and as much as Phil hated to admit it, he had to agree. 

"It's not his fault."

"No, but look at Jack and Dean. At least they still get shit done. Hey, who d'you reckon'll get it on first?"

"Dan!" 

Phil gave his friend a shove, but couldn't help but snigger. 

It was then that they heard the gunshot. Chris was awake in a split second, eyes wide and face pale with terror, pressing back against the wall. Phil and Dan both grabbed their weapons simultaneously, priming them and aiming, leaping to their feet, Phil only remembering at the last moment to keep an eye on Chris.

"WHO'S THERE?" they heard Tom yell from the other end of the camp, a second gunshot splitting the aching silence. "BACK OFF, WHOEVER YOU ARE!"

"We don't want trouble! We're friends! Please, we don't want trouble!"

"YOU PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! YOU PUT THEM DOWN RIGHT NOW!"

There was a moment's silence, then the faint clattering of guns being placed on the ground. 

"Arms behind your head! Do it!"

Phil could see the silhouettes of two people standing a little way away, their hands behind their heads. He couldn't tell much about them except that they didn't look threatening - not without their guns. Still, Phil kept his gun trained on one of their heads, ready to shoot at Tom's command.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"We want friendship. An alliance. We have a camp not far from here - we have food and water and blankets."

It was a young man's voice...in fact, it sounded strangely familiar to Phil. Glancing at Dan, he saw the same confused recognition on his face. 

"What's your name?" Dan called out. 

Both strangers turned their heads to look at them. 

"My name's Luke, and this is my colleague Dodie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologise for being such a crappy author and not updating. I hope you enjoyed the chapter though, and some exciting stuff is coming up soon, so please bear with me - I won't give up on this story, I promise! Please leave kudos or a comment if you have the time. :) Thank you so much for reading!


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